Once the image in the mirror faded, Angel turned toward Duckwill, who stood beside her with his mouth agape.
"So you're... you're a Witch?" he stammered, his eyes filled with panic as he took several steps backward.
"No, not yet. And why are you so afraid?" Angel asked with genuine curiosity.
"Not yet?" Duckwill retreated until his back hit the wall. Finding no escape route, he finally stopped. "I had my suspicions when you used frost to kill those mutated rats, but now you've also used a magic mirror for divination... As far as I know, only those on the 'Witch' pathway can divine with mirrors like this and wield both frost and black flames."
"The Witch pathway?" Angel murmured, repeating his words. "You mean the Assassin pathway?"
"They're the same thing. Most potion pathways are named after their Sequence 9, like the 'Assassin' you mentioned, or my 'Apothecary,'" Duckwill explained, no longer hiding his own sequence. "But many pathways also have special designations. Your 'Assassin' pathway is one of them—it's controlled by the secretive 'Witch Sect' and worships the 'Primordial Witch,' which is why it's also called the 'Witch' pathway."
I see—instead of using the Sequence 9 potion as the pathway's name, it's named after the common characteristic shared by most sequences. Who knew I'd learn something new while hunting rats in the sewers...
Angel mused to herself. Seeing that Duckwill's plump face still bore traces of wariness, she tried to reassure him.
"I'm not part of the Witch Sect—well, at least not now. My only goal is to earn those 30 pounds from you."
"Sorry, it was just an instinctive reaction. After all, the Witch Sect has quite the notorious reputation..."
Perhaps realizing that if a Witch truly wanted to harm him, she wouldn't have waited until now, Duckwill gradually calmed down. The panic on his face subsided as he walked back from the corner to stand beside the mutated rat's corpse.
"Did your divination reveal anything?"
Angel shared the results with him, which promptly sent the barely-composed Apothecary back into a state of fear.
"You mean these animals didn't grow this large on their own, but were created by someone using extraordinary means?"
"Do you think normal rats can grow larger than dogs?" Angel replied. "According to the divination, they transformed after drinking some kind of red liquid. Perhaps an out-of-control Beyonder died upstream in the sewers and their blood flowed down, or maybe someone deliberately used a potion to achieve this effect."
As Angel analyzed the situation, she watched the Apothecary's expression shift constantly. She added reassuringly, "Now that we've discovered the problem, I suggest you relocate your cultivation sites elsewhere. Maybe follow your colleagues' example and grow your herbs in dark underground crypts instead—anything to avoid hearing about your disappearance at the next gathering."
"But I..." Duckwill frowned, deep in thought. "Alright. There's one last cultivation site. Let's deal with it quickly. Once I've collected the mature herbs, I'll move in a few days."
Though Angel doubted whether his hesitant commitment was genuine, she had fulfilled her duty to warn him. She dropped the subject and followed his directions, soon arriving at the third and final cultivation site.
Before even entering the wide sewer junction, Angel heard heavy thuds—thump, thump—the ponderous sounds echoing through the pipes like someone beating a massive drum beside her.
"I'll go in first. Stay here and don't move," Angel instructed Duckwill, only to find he had already retreated several steps, clearing the passage entrance.
Treading quietly through the ever-present sewage, Angel's dark vision soon revealed the source of the noise.
Several wooden frames set up in the wide sewer junction had been smashed to pieces. The clay pots and plants they once held looked as if they'd been crushed by giant feet, scattered as powder and fragments across the ground.
A massive crocodile—at least six meters long with limbs as thick as stone pillars—was using its tail to batter the wooden frames in the corner. Its grotesquely swollen tail slammed repeatedly against the concrete wall, producing sounds like a colossal hammer that reverberated throughout the entire space.
"I should have guessed—how could that strange red liquid only affect rats..." Angel muttered, lamenting how difficult it was to earn these 30 pounds. She slowed her approach toward the mutated crocodile as the temperature around her plummeted, condensing into an ice spear as thick as an arm.
The moment she grasped the frost lance, the crocodile sensed danger. Its four limbs churned as it left the corner, circling halfway around in the flowing sewage before facing Angel. Its eyes—red like those of the mutated rats—burned with bloodthirsty desire.
Without hesitation, Angel hurled the ice spear forward. The sharp projectile struck the crocodile's tail with tremendous force, pinning it to the ground.
Bang!
A black flame followed immediately, igniting the crocodile as it struggled to shake its tail free from the ice spear's grip. Engulfed in black fire, the creature rolled in the shallow water, but couldn't extinguish these flames that were curses in essence. Soon it curled into a ball, becoming a charred, stinking corpse.
After carefully examining the surroundings with spirit vision and confirming no other dangers lurked nearby, Angel called Duckwill over from where he'd been watching the battle at the entrance.
Though now a corpse, the crocodile was clearly many times larger than those that normally prowled the sewers along the banks of the Tassok River. The sight made the portly Apothecary gasp.
"Thank goodness you accepted my commission. Otherwise, I definitely would have come down here myself to salvage what I could..."
He kicked at the crocodile's charred remains, his voice trembling with lingering fear.
"Even without me, that 'Black Snake' fellow would probably have helped you. After you mentioned the additional 30 pounds, he seemed eager enough."
Angel surveyed the cultivation site, which now had almost no herbs remaining. She found no traces of other mutated animals. Apparently, even after mutating into bloodthirsty monsters, they still maintained territorial instincts—with the crocodile occupying this area, the rats had been forced to seek elsewhere.
"Ha, 'Black Snake'?" Duckwill sneered. "He's Sequence 8 at most, always babbling on about his ability to hear some 'great existence.' I even suspect he's connected to the Aurora Order. He might manage those rats, but against this crocodile? He'd most likely end up as a midnight snack."
Speaking of snacks, Angel's appetite—amplified by the Ring of Madness—began tormenting her stomach.
But to prevent the combat-incapable Duckwill from being dragged off by some mutated rat after she left, she endured her hunger and patrolled the nearby sewers. Finding no other mutated creatures, she finally returned with Duckwill to the sewer entrance.
Looking at the surging river water outside, the portly Apothecary took a deep breath of fresh air as if reborn, then glanced back at the pitch-black sewers with lingering dread.
"I'll come back tomorrow during the day to collect those herbs. Sigh, though there aren't many left. You're right—I should find a cemetery and secretly plant some there. At least it's better than risking my life crawling through sewers."
Angel felt gratified that Duckwill had come to this realization. This employer paid promptly and was an Apothecary who could craft various potions—she certainly didn't want to see his corpse floating in the Tassok River in a few days.
After collecting the final payment for completing the commission and learning how to attend future "Eye of Wisdom" Beyonder gatherings, Angel bid farewell to the portly Apothecary, who still lingered by the riverbank. Following her usual practice, she returned to her safe house in the East Borough and performed anti-divination using black flames.
She didn't rush to change clothes and return to Red Rose Street. Instead, she took out her magic mirror and performed another divination.
"Magic mirror, magic mirror, tell me—who created the mutated animals in the sewers?"
Angel channeled her spirituality, caressing the mirror's surface. As ripples spread across it and it gradually darkened, she remained puzzled by the mutated animals that had mysteriously appeared in the sewers, especially that crocodile. And since she would be living long-term in Backlund's Bridge District, having traces of these mutated creatures beneath her feet was deeply unsettling.
The mirror soon displayed images of rats drinking deep crimson wastewater, consistent with the divination results she'd obtained in the sewers. The crocodile, having been incinerated by black flames—equivalent to anti-divination measures—didn't appear in the vision.
But Angel had traversed the main sewers of the Bridge District, made contact with the mutated rats and their environment, and gathered more information. Her divination results should be more detailed now.
Recalling Klein's "Summary of Divination Techniques" in her mind, Angel continued watching the magic mirror in her hands. As black mist flashed past, the mirror's surface switched scenes and darkened once more. When the blackness receded, a bronze-skinned hand bearing open wounds descended, and drops of deep crimson blood fell into water below.
Crack—
Fissures appeared across the magic mirror, and the vision abruptly cut off. The cracks continued spreading as deep crimson liquid—as if dripping from that descending hand—seeped from within.
Anti-divination? No—someone sensed my prying and counterattacked!
Without hesitation, she pressed the "Magic Pocket Watch" bound to her wrist. Her spiritual perception detected a flame not far outside the window—one of the East Borough's nighttime street lamps.
As the mirror shattered, erupting with heart-stopping, utterly evil ravings and screams, Angel's body—veins bulging across her skin—thinned and shrank. In a surge of flames, she transformed into a short black staff, its surface mottled and filthy.
Out on the street, dizzy and disoriented, she emerged from the flames and immediately dropped to her knees, forcing herself into a meditative state to resist the nearly out-of-control spirituality surging within her.
Those evil ravings, those screams that reached the depths of her soul—Angel had encountered them before, in Tingen City, during her battle with Megose.
That was...
That was the breath of the "True Creator"!